Last Week on Nobody Scissors: I rebelled against societal gender norms with all the ferocity of Canada’s most treasured pop-punk princess.
My first kiss was in 7th grade, with a boy named… let’s call him Shmarc. We were at the movies and he leaned in to kiss me. It was everything I dreamed it would be. Except that it was terrible and his tongue darted in and out of my mouth like a meerkat popping out of one of those holes meerkats live in. On top of that, we were watching a movie starring Nicholas Cage which can never be good, oh and the lights came on because the movie was ending. So there I was, 13 years old, mouth being probed by my boyfriend at the time who could have passed for an albino Tin-Tin, sitting in the front row of the theater with all of our friends staring open-mouthed at us still going at it. His mouth did taste like green jolly ranchers though, which was nice.
*Theme music and opening credits play*
Almost two years later I had my first lesbian encounter. That makes it sound like it was thrilling or wild. Like I was at a pool party with the cheerleading team and there was a baby oil slip n slide and some babe came sliding into my arms and into my heart — unfortunately, that’s not how it played out. My first lesbian encounter was rather tame in the scheme of things, but it was the first step in a long and shenanigan-filled queer journey and therefore it was monumental.
It was freshman year and my twin sister, Courtney, and I were having a sleepover with two friends from the basketball team. I was telling a ghost story about the ghost that haunted our upstairs hallway. My mother claims this story to be true, I don’t buy it, but nonetheless it makes for good storytelling. I wrap up the story and… let’s call her…. Shmary… looks at me with wide green eyes and cries “I’m sleeping with you tonight.” I had never really thought of that ghost story as a romantic one, but it got this super cute girl into my bed that night so I wasn’t complaining.
A little background on me and Shmary:
We played basketball together and from day one there an undeniable amount of sexual tension between her and I (well, as much sexual tension as two fifteen-year-olds can have). She was girly, tall, and conventionally pretty, I was short and awkwardly not boyish enough yet (give me a couple years, I promise I figured it out). She also had green eyes and was left handed, two traits that end up being VERY common when it comes to “my type” later on in life.
We were both just figuring things out in terms of who we were and who we liked. Being a lesbian wasn’t really “a thing” back then, or it wasn’t really that common–at least not in middle class Texas suburbia. In spite of not really knowing that much about the queer world, we dabbled the best that we could — but it was essentially the blind leading the blind. It started with always sitting next to each other, making bathroom trips together, passing notes in class, etc. We hadn’t quite acknowledged that we were attracted to each other, but we had held hands a few times on the bus, y’know, typical baby lesbian sexcapades.
So anyway, Shmary hops up in my bed and cowers into my shoulder as we try to fall asleep. Our other friend is talking with Courtney in the top bunk. (Oh yea, we had bunkbeds. All the way up until college. No wonder I never got laid). I was acutely aware of the smell of Shmary’s shampoo, and the way she not so subtly had her hand wrapped tightly around my waist. I turned to her in the dark and somehow we were kissing. Her lips were soft, Katy Perry had warned me that they might taste like cherry chapstick but hers tasted more like Burt’s Bees; either way, I realized that chapstick was way more my taste than green Jolly Ranchers, sorry Shmarc.
Almost as soon as it had started it was over, Shmary pulled away and asked me, “Are you sure?” to which I stuttered, “Uh, uh. Goodnight.” And rolled over.
Nailed it, Chris. Well done. Total ladykiller.
*Tune in next time to see what happens when the whole school finds out*